


yield a warm sunrise

by DrowningInStarlight



Category: Campaign (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shipwrecked, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crew as Family, Families of Choice, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24536827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningInStarlight/pseuds/DrowningInStarlight
Summary: Gable realises that they’ve never truly understood the phrase “out of the frying pan, into the fire” as the Uhuru plunges into the hurricane.Or, the crew of the Uhuru are shipwrecked on a remote island, with red feathers on their tail. There are too many secrets to keep forever - something's got to give.
Relationships: Gable & Jonnit Kessler, Gable & Nodoze (Campaign Podcast), Gable & Travis Matagot, Jonnit Kessler & Travis Matagot
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	yield a warm sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> cw: brief mentions of ritualised self harm in the "blood sacrifice" sense of canon. 
> 
> this is a deeply indulgent 5k of post-ship wreck hurt/comfort, and me getting extremely excited over how cool jonnit's magic is. enjoy!!!

Gable realises that they’ve never truly understood the phrase “out of the frying pan, into the fire” as the Uhuru plunges into the hurricane.

When the Uhuru had stopped at the port city of Whitehaven, it was supposed to be shore leave— but, as always, things had ended up more complicated than that, and they’d left under fire. They’d been fleeing for at least a day and a half now, but the red feather ship had proven to be impossible to shake. (To be fair, the Uhuru _had_ stolen a great deal of the commander’s personal treasures, so Gable couldn’t really fault her for her rage.) 

So when the hurricane had stirred up on the horizon, they had had to make a decision. Perhaps it had been the wrong one. 

“Lash yourselves down!” they hear Nodoze shout across the deck, and they grit their teeth against the driving rain, gripping the wheel with a cold ferocity. The silhouette of the red feather ship fades in and out of view behind them, like a ghost in the roiling clouds. 

“Jonnit!” they shout against the wind. “Where?” 

Jonnit’s sat at the base of the wheel, struggling to read a compass under the shelter of Gable’s oilskin. “We’ve gotta go on!” he shouts back. “I don’t know—” 

Thunder rolls, and as it does the clouds part, just for a moment. And the syndicate ship fires. 

Gable’s used to cannon fire, but this? This isn’t cannons. There’s a sound of glass shattering, and oil starts to rain from the sky. It’s thick and black, and Gable can’t look away as it rolls down the featherweave of the balloons. And then the ship begins to plunge. 

Everyone scrambles for a handhold, as somewhere deep inside the ship, the heart bell tolls. Jonnit yelps as his compass skitters across the deck, then again as he begins to slide— Gable wrenches the wheel with all of their strength, then lets it go to reach for Jonnit. They catch his hand, slippery from the oil, and haul him back across the deck. He pants in terror as he clings to their arm. 

“Let me go,” he manages, “You need to— the wheel—” 

“I’m _not_ letting you go,” they grit out, but they do reach out for the wheel desperately with their other hand. The ship rights itself a little as Gable wrestles back a semblance of control, but across the deck they hear a warning shout from Travis and then there’s just a jumble of voices as part of the featherweave balloon that keeps them aloft sinks down, covering the deck. 

That’s when they break out of the clouds, and Gable sees the sea. 

It’s easy to forget, most days, that sky ships are above the sea for most of their journeys. It’s so far below, often obscured by clouds, you can only hear the waves on stormy days and normally by then everyone has other things to worry about. But now the sea seems huge and dark as they sink further beneath the cloud layer. Every story Gable’s ever heard about the Mariner comes flooding back, leaving the taste of brackish water in their mouth. Everyone knows what happens to the skyjacks who drown in the open sea. 

Jonnit pulls free of Gable’s grip, clinging to their sleeve instead as he points out across the horizon. “There! Is that—” 

Gable could hug that boy right then and there. Land. There’s land on the horizon. They aren’t sure if they’ll make it there, but it’s _something_. It’s hope. 

“Jonnit, you’re a miracle,” they say, then, out to the rest of the ship: “Everyone _hold on!”_

Their voice echoes over the storm with the kind of authority that has people obeying by instinct and says, in every reverberation, _do not be afraid._ They grab the wheel properly, with both hands, and the ship screams at them with creaking timber as Gable silently pleads, _come on, old lady, we can do this together—_

But they aren’t going to make it. It’s clear even as the ship lurches forward. The featherweave sinks lower, dark oil running off it into the sea below. Beside them, they feel Jonnit tense, then he pats their arm once and scrambles off across the deck. His bandanna is the only smudge of colour in the gloom, and they watch as he drops to his knees in the centre of the deck and shouts up at the sky. For a strange, disorientating moment, Gable thinks he’s praying. Then he takes a knife out of his pocket and draws it across his palm. His blood falls red onto the deck, mingling with the rain. 

The ship bucks, and Gable realises in a cold rush that this is a tug of war, now, between the Mariner, and— and Jonnit Kessler, fifteen years old and bleeding onto the deck. They’re frozen, torn between the desire to help him and their responsibility to the ship— but it’s not that, really. It’s that every time they use their magic, it hurts someone, and they _can’t_ take that risk, not now— 

Travis is the one who puts an end to their quandary. He emerges from the gloom of the fallen featherweave and wordlessly kneels beside Jonnit. He gestures for the knife, and Jonnit passes it hesitantly. Travis doesn’t even wince as he drags the knife along his arm, blood spilling freely. Gable can almost hear his voice in their head. _She wouldn’t let the Mariner have me anyway._

The ship jumps again, and Jonnit bows his head, closing his eyes— he pushes a hand forward through the air, as their mingling blood continues to drip onto the deck. Finally, like heartstrings snapping, the Uhuru lurches forward and keeps moving. Delicate purple flames burst into life across the rigging, flowing down the sunken featherweave. It dances between Gable’s fingertips when they look down at their hands. For a moment, they feel warm to their core. 

“S’all on you now, buddy!” Jonnit shouts, and Gable nods grimly. Their nosedive is too steep to not hit the water, but maybe they can get close enough to not drown hopelessly. Maybe they could help, reach out for the strange, aching place where their memories should be— 

Their scars sting, and they know it’s too late. For better, or for worse, this is it. 

“Brace yourselves,” Nodoze shouts warningly from somewhere across the deck. 

“We’re gonna have to swim!” they hear Spit yelling, distant, as they fight for every precious second Jonnit bought them, and then there’s nothing more they can do and— 

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Gable, for the second time, falls. 

— 

The camera pans out, before the Uhuru hits the waves. We see the cages below, illuminated in the purple fire of the spell Jonnit and Travis wove together. The birds are restless, pawing the ground, stretching their wings— and as the incandescence passes across the bars, the cages fall open with a soft _click._

The Uhuru falls, but it is not without allies against the might of the sea. 

—

When they awake, the sand is gritty beneath their skin. That’s the first sensation that filters in, shortly followed by the deep ache in their hands and arms, and quickly overshadowed by the sound of Travis saying their name, over and over. He’s saying it rhythmically, almost bored, poking their side with his foot to punctuate every word. “Gable. Gable. Gable.” 

They crack open an eye, and immediately sit up with a stifled gasp. Everything is sea and sand and fire and darkness, and it reminds them of a night two hundred years ago so strongly it feels like they’ve been punched in the gut. Metatron is sat by their side, wings tucked away neatly, and Travis is leaning against Lucas’ side. Flee is pacing the water’s edge, keeping watch. Huh. 

“Yeah,” Travis says, kicking them once more for good measure. “Familiar, huh?” 

He looks… bedraggled. His clothes are damp and sandy, his hair is stiff with salt water. Gable doesn’t feel any better. They lean to the side and cough up sea water. “I’ve got clothes on this time,” they say hoarsely. Metatron butts at them, and they reach up to pet his beak. 

“Mm, that’s true.” Travis smooths a hand across Lucas’ flank. That isn’t the only difference, and that knowledge lies heavy between them. Now, they have something to lose. Or. Well. They _had_ something to lose.

The smell of smoke drifts across the beach, and Gable gets to their feet shakily. The island is small, beach rising upwards into cliffs. There are several bonfires built above the tideline, people gathered around them.

“Jonnit?” they ask. “The Uhuru? What happened, how long has it been—” 

“Chill,” Travis says. “Jonnit’s good, he went to find water or something. It’s been like half an hour.” He taps one of his watches. The bloody gash he’d cut into his arm is painfully visible. 

“Travis,” Gable says, because they’ve known each other for an impossibly long time and spent most of it lying to each other, and they _know_ when Travis is evading. “Where’s the Uhuru?” 

“You’re not gonna like this.” 

“When do I ever like things you say?” 

He points behind them, at the sea. It’s calmer now, under the evening sky, but it doesn’t feel peaceful. It feels like it’s lying in wait. “It’s out there. The Uhuru’s in the ocean.” 

Gable sighs, a sick feeling filling their stomach. “I don’t know what I expected,” they say. “So we’re stuck here. Right.” 

“Sure looks that way,” Travis says idly. 

They look sideways at him. “You’re not concerned about the fact we could easily starve to death here before another ship passes?” 

“I’m gonna have a more pressing problem in like,” he looks down at the watches on his wrist and then up at the sky. “Half an hour.” 

“Hm. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Gable decides. “I’m gonna go check in with the crew. Did the captain…?” 

“Yeah, he’s good,” Travis says. “No thanks to any of you. A bit damp, perhaps. I left him by the bonfires. The crew wanted to move you over there too, but, well—” 

“I’m very tall,” Gable agrees. “Fine.” They begin to stomp off across the sand, and Travis moves after them. 

“Good, you’re awake,” Spit says, as they approach. “The captain ain’t being no help, reckon he must have hit his head in the wreck, or something. Luminaries damn it, of the all times to need Dref—” 

“Is anyone else injured?” Gable asks. “Where’s Jonnit?” 

“Nothing serious, just bumps and bruises,” Spit reassures. “Those birds of yours fished everyone out pretty damn quick. Shaken, o’course, and worried about what comes next, but nothing we can’t handle for now.” 

“I think we’re all shaken,” Gable says. “The red feather ship?” 

“Not a sign of it. Reckon they think they got us.” 

“And Jonnit?” 

“I sent the lad to go check for fresh water,” Spit explains. “Seeing as he kept fussing around you. Tried to send Travis, too, but he wasn’t having none of it.” 

Travis shrugs noncommittally. 

Nodoze walks up and dumps an armful of driftwood in the growing pile between the bonfires. He claps a hand on Gable’s arm as he passes them. “Good to see you up.” 

“You too,” Gable says, and means it. “Spit was just updating me on the situation.” 

There’s a sadness in his eyes that Gable is starting to notice in everyone as he replies. “Gonna be tricky getting out of this one.” 

“We’ll work it out,” Gable says. “We always manage something, we’re the crew of the Uhuru.” 

“Not anymore,” No Doze reminds them, turning back to the bonfires. 

“Right.” 

_“GABLE!”_

Everyone turns to see Jonnit racing down the beach towards them. He crashes into Gable’s arms, and they sweep him up into the air. 

“You’re okay!” he says, hugging them tightly. 

“I am,” Gable says into his shoulder, then pulls away to look him up and down. “What about you?” 

“Well, shipwreck aside,” he says. He looks just as bedraggled as Travis, all blood and salt and sand, and as they set him down on the sand, they wonder if he’s been crying. 

“Did you find water, lad?” Spit asks, and Jonnit nods. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah, there’s a spring, at the base of the cliff round there— fresh water, looks good to drink!” 

“Good,” Spit says, some of the worry leaving his face. “That’s a start.” 

Travis makes a pointed little noise behind Gable, and they look up at the sky. The sun is beginning to set. Oh dear. 

“Hey, Jonnit?” they ask.

“Yeah?” 

“Did you see any decent caves when you were searching for the water?” 

“Yeah, a couple— why?” 

They turn and grab Travis by the scruff of his shirt, tugging him forward. He drags his feet in the sand unenthusiastically. Spit looks at them in confusion.

“This man,” Gable says, giving Travis a shake, aware that other people around the bonfires are starting to watch them, “Needs to be reprimanded for his _terrible_ conduct during the wreck, and as we no longer have a brig, I will make it my personal duty to find a cave to put him in overnight.” 

“Uh—” Jonnit begins, but Gable pointedly looks from him, to Travis, then up the setting sun above them, and realization dawns on his face. “Oh! He sure did, in fact, I’ll help you find a cave right now!” 

“Now wait a second,” Spit says. “I didn’t see Matagot do much of anything during the wreck, and granted I was underneath featherweave for a lot of it, but still—” 

“Terrible conduct!” Gable insists brightly. “Tell them, Travis!” 

“Yes, yes,” he says, crossing his arms, still dangling in their grip. “Awful. Appalling. Take me away at once, righteous helmsperson.” 

“You see?” 

“Well, if you say so,” Spit says dubiously. 

Travis mutters something, and the captain rises from his place beside the bonfire and moves to join them. Gable doesn’t waste the opportunity to make an escape. They ignore the whispers of the crew as they pass. There’s a kick out of making a scene which they’ve never been entirely immune to, and despite everything that’s happened, they feel a small flicker of security in their chest. Teasing Travis is, after all, their oldest pastime. 

“This way,” Jonnit says, leading them across the sand to the furthest cave. “It’s small, but it looked dry when I passed it. And no one will be able to see us from the beach.” 

“Perfect, thank you, Jonnit,” Gable says. They deposit Travis on the sandy ground. “You’re welcome.” 

“There wasn’t any other way you could have done that?” he asks, straightening his coat. “One that would’ve raised less questions, perhaps?” 

“Crew needed a distraction anyway,” Gable says, waving a hand. “Now they’ll have something to talk about. Go on then, hurry up.” 

“You _know_ that isn’t how it works,” Travis says. 

“Travis, couldn’t you have just like… walked over here yourself?” Jonnit says. “Then no one would have noticed you were gone?” 

“Now where’s the fun in that?” he replies, and Gable is reminded that _his_ oldest and most familiar pastime is also teasing _them,_ and then the sun drops over the horizon and the conversation is halted until a snowy white coyote is sitting primly on the ground. 

—

“What are we gonna do?” Jonnit asks. He’s sitting cross legged on the ground, drawing patterns in the sand. Travis as a coyote is sat to his left, occasionally flicking his tail across the sand and messing up Jonnit’s doodling. Jonnit patiently pushes his tail away and carries on drawing. The captain leans, oh so casual, against the cave wall. 

Gable paces the cave entrance like a caged lion. The moon has risen, shining silver across the sand, glinting in their hair. “I don’t know.” 

“Like, even if we get off this island before— anything happens—” he casts a wary look at the brooding, moonlit sea, “—what then? The Uhuru’s…. gone.” 

“I don’t know, Jonnit. I wish I did.” 

“Will we all be separated? And someone’ll _definitely_ find out about the captain, and—” 

“We could always push him in the sea now,” Travis says. “To have done.” 

“No!” Jonnit says, distress rising on his face. He lifts his hand to gesture at Travis, then winces and pulls it to his chest. “Ow.” 

Gable turns away from the cave entrance and kneels by Jonnit. They hold out their hand, and Jonnit puts his hand into it. It’s a vicious cut, right across the palm. Gable taps his wrist. “You’ve gotta stop cutting your hand,” they say. 

“I needed blood—” 

“I understand that. But cuts like this? They’re painful, hard to heal. This’ll scar.” 

“I did what I had to do,” Jonnit says stubbornly. Gable sighs, because he’s right. He’s right. Maybe, if they’d helped somehow, this wouldn’t all end here, on this island, surrounded by the sea. They close their eyes for a moment, taking a second for what in other people would be a prayer, but in them is a promise to themself. _Keep him safe._

They open their eyes and see Travis watching them, the weight of his gaze heavy. They suddenly have the uncomfortable feeling that he’s read a little too much of their thoughts, so they look away. 

“Keep it as clean as you can,” they tell Jonnit, gently putting his hand back on his lap, and stepping away.

“I should have done more,” he says. 

“You couldn’t have,” Travis says, and they both look at him in surprise. He sits up on his front paws. “What? I was part of that spell. There wasn’t anything more either of us could have done. We weren’t powerful enough to save the Uhuru, and that’s just the way things are.” 

“I _should have_ been!” Jonnit protests. “What’s the _point_ of having power if I can’t even save my _home?”_

There’s a long, ringing silence. The captain gets up, suddenly, and moves to stand at the front of the cave. Everyone looks at him, worried, but he just stares silently at the horizon. 

“I should have helped,” Gable says, eventually. “I should have helped.” 

“Could you have?” Travis asks. 

“I don’t know, I— I think so? But it doesn’t feel— It’s like— It’s just— I can’t _explain it!”_ Their voice echoes out across the sand, full of that unholy reverb that it’s only too easy for them to summon. 

The wind whistles, a hollow response. 

When they look back, Jonnit is staring up at them with wide, scared eyes. There’s no fear in Travis’ expression, but there’s something else in the way he’s holding himself— he looks poised to run. 

“I’m sorry,” Gable says, and they’ve lost count of how many times they’ve said it. “I— for everything. I think I need some air.” 

“Gable—” 

They take their coat off and give it to Jonnit. “Get some sleep.”

They walk out of the cave without looking back. 

— 

“Should we go after them?” Jonnit says, clutching Gable’s coat in his lap. 

“No, best leave them to it,” Travis says, setting himself in the sand. “You know how they get when one interrupts their brooding.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Jonnit says, a little dubiously. 

“Sleep,” Travis says. “While you can.” 

“While I can?” 

“We haven’t got any food, remember,” Travis says. “You’ll feel it by tomorrow. It’s hard to sleep when you’re starving.” 

And on that comforting note, he rests his head on his paws and closes his eyes. After a moment, Jonnit pulls Gable’s coat over his shoulders and lies down next to Travis, wrapping his arms around himself against the chill of the night. 

As the camera pulls away we can see, illuminated by moonlight, Jonnit’s drawings in the sand. It’s the Uhuru. A ship that now only exists in memories. 

— 

Gable doesn’t sleep. They pace the beach, keeping watch, splitting their attention between the sea, the sky, and the cave where they left Travis and Jonnit. The crew have banked the fires, and they’re burning low and smoky. The smell is comforting, and drowns out the salt blowing in off the sea. Everything smells like smoke on a skyship, the furnaces burning day and night to keep you aloft, and Gable hadn’t realised how much they’d miss it. 

Just as dawn is beginning to colour the sky, they walk down to the waterline. The sea is cold and grey, lapping maliciously at the edge of the little island. Gable isn’t used to feeling small, but they stare out at the endless grey and feel unbearably insignificant. The air’s cold and their fingers and nose are numb with it. 

They take a breath, a deep one, before they close their eyes and reach for the part of them that’s missing. 

(The sun breaks the horizon, flooding the sky with light, and for a moment, the rays shine across Gable, giving them something that looks a little like wings. But all too quickly, the moment passes. The clouds cover the sun once more, returning everything to grey.) 

Gable opens their eyes with a gasp. For a moment, all they can feel is fire, and then the vision passes and they’re just staring at the sea again. 

They’re heading across the beach to check on the birds when they see Nodoze. He’s standing, arms behind his back, staring out at the sea. Everyone’s been doing a lot of that, recently. It’s hard not to. Gable goes and stands by his side. 

“You’re up early,” they comment quietly. 

“As are you.” He doesn’t look away from the horizon.

“I didn’t really sleep at all,” Gable admits. 

“We know,” Nodoze says. “The crew saw you. It comforted them.”

“It did?” 

“Seeing you on watch made them feel safe. You should know,” he turns to look them in the eyes. “They were talking about a guardian an—”

“—don’t,” Gable interrupts. “They shouldn’t— I’m not— don’t. ” 

Nodoze shrugs. “As you want. But the crew wasn’t there on the Civility. I was. I haven’t shared… that aspect of the battle with anyone, and I don’t plan on it. And I don’t believe in angels.” 

“No?” 

“No. But I do believe in the best helmsperson we’ve ever had.” 

Gable looks at him helplessly. They’ve weathered a lot together, and Gable has yet to see him shaken by anything. They admire his resilience. There’s nothing but a solid, stable respect in his face, the kind that only comes from surviving a crisis side by side with someone, and coming out unashamed of actions taken together.

Gable can’t face him. “Tell me what needs doing,” they say. “Shelters, firewood, foraging, I don’t care, I just can’t sit here doing nothing.” 

He hesitates, but in the end he just nods. He doesn’t try for reassurance, he lets them get to work, but more than that, he works by their side. Clearing rocks and piling wood is simple, mindless, and Gable lets themself fade into it. As the rain blows in from the sea, they begin to build camp. 

—

It’s a long, miserable day. The crew scatter across the island, but it’s small, bare and rocky, nothing but seagrass growing in tufts on the top of the cliff. The rain sets in in earnest, and by the time the sun is starting to sink again everyone is tired and hungry and soaked to the skin all over again. 

The wood is starting to run low already, and what’s left is damp and burns fitfully. Spit and Jonnit are on their knees, poking and coaxing the embers, but it’s clearly a losing battle. 

“Oh, come _on!”_ Jonnit says, as a particularly strong gust of wind drives the rain harder into everyone’s eyes. 

“At this point I’d take the red feathers showing up again,” Travis says, shoulders hunched against the rain. “At least that’d be quick.” 

“Oh, _now_ you’re concerned about our situation,” Gable snaps at him. 

“Are you not?” he asks. “I thought you, of all people—” 

“Oh, I am so going to murder you,” Gable tells him, taking a threatening half-step towards him. 

“Now, what would that solve?” he says, standing his ground and gesturing expansively at the miserable crew sitting huddled on the sand. 

“Literally anything would be better than being stuck here _with_ you.” 

“Knock it off, the pair of you,” Spit says. All his usual good humour is gone. “You’re adults, behave like it.” 

Gable and Travis huff in unison, then realise what they did and glare at each other more fiercely for it. 

The fire cracks and flares for a moment, but it dies again, and Jonnit throws down the tinderbox with a curse. “This isn’t getting _anywhere.”_

The rain drives down harder. 

—

They sleep in the cave again. Gable and Travis still aren’t talking to each other, and lie on opposite sides of the cave, Jonnit forming a barrier between them. The captain lurks. 

Sleep doesn’t come easily, but Gable is so tired that eventually they can’t help passing out. Their dreams are filled with visions of an ocean, burning. 

—

It’s Jonnit who wakes them in the morning. It’s early, early enough that Travis is still a coyote, still curled up asleep in the opposite corner of the cave. The light from the cave entrance is hardly even light, and they can barely see Jonnit as he kneels next to them. 

“‘s going on,” they mumble, but Jonnit just shakes his head and puts his finger to his lips, beckoning them outside the cave. They follow him out.

The rain has eased over night, and now it’s just a light mist settling on Jonnit’s hair, on Gable’s bare arms. The air is cool and salty. They glance back towards the other caves, where the crew spread out and holed up the previous evening, but there’s no sign of movement yet. 

“What’s up?” they ask. 

“We can fix this,” Jonnit says. He’s bouncing on his toes again, like he always does when he’s eager about something, but his energy isn’t scattered like it sometimes is. He’s focused, filled with certainty. 

“Fix… this?” 

“Yeah, the Uhuru, all of it!” 

“You mean, we the crew?” 

“I mean we _us._ I was thinking about backwards before,” he starts walking down the beach, towards the tideline, and Gable follows. “It isn’t too late. If anyone can do it, it’s gotta be us. It’s _got to be.”_

“Oh. Oh, you mean…” Gable sighs. “I tried that. I— I couldn’t.” 

They reach the tideline, the sea tossing gently against the sand a few metres down, and Jonnit sits on the sand. The sky is starting to lighten, as the first sun tints the clouds a little pink. 

“Neither could I,” he says, as they sit opposite him. “But I think we were both going about it wrong.” 

“I don’t think I can,” Gable says helplessly. “I don’t think I know how to not make it… hurt.” 

Jonnit’s eyes go serious for a second, heavy with the weight of wisdom that a boy of his age shouldn’t possess. Shouldn’t _have_ to possess. “Y’know, I’m starting to think that’s just... what it’s like.” 

“It shouldn’t have to be,” Gable says. 

“Then we can do this together,” Jonnit says. Gable looks at him, really looks at him, and there’s determination in his eyes. Determination and a touch of fear, a touch of… trust. One day, Jonnit Kessler is going to be great. 

They hope they’re there to see it. 

“Okay,” they say carefully. “Together.” 

—

They’ve only seen Jonnit do magic in theory. They’ve been, you know, around, they’ve certainly seen the aftermath, but they’ve never actually sat down and watched him. They’re barely used to using their own powers, really, and certainly not with someone else. They expect it to feel like standing at the edge of a cliff, the moment before a dive, but it… doesn’t. 

Jonnit’s tapping out a rhythm, just something simple, _snap snap tap_ , and it carries over the sound of the waves. He’s closed his eyes, but taken off his bandanna, and he nods in time with his beat. Jonnit is never quiet, never still, climbing and talking and running and laughing, and there’s a power in the way his thoughts jump from point to point like lightning. It feels a little like lightning now, the charge of power that comes before a strike. The air feels electric. 

They’re hesitating, still. It takes them a moment to fall into time with Jonnit’s rhythm, but they do, and he opens his eyes to smile at them. They’re just sitting there, making noise together, when there’s footsteps from the direction of the caves. 

The sun’s risen. It’s Travis. Gable looks at him, a little wary, but he just comes and sits next to them, back to the caves. The rhythm falters, but he waves a hand. 

“Please, don’t let me stop you.” 

“I didn’t think this was your thing,” Gable says, but with curiosity, not hostility. They’re tired of fighting with Travis. 

He seems to be tired of fighting too, and he just shrugs. “It’s not, really. But I want to get out of here as much as you two. So.” His smile turns sardonic. “The Forest Queen stands with you.” 

“Good to have you onboard, man,” Jonnit says. 

“Well, hopefully we’ll _all_ be back on board and flying away from this hellhole very shortly.” 

“That’s the plan.” 

It’s easier to slip back into it, now they’ve done it once. Travis is quiet, but he stays with them, steady. Jonnit’s rhythm is complex now, and Gable almost can’t follow it, and then they realise maybe they don’t need to. Instead, they listen. 

Reaching for the magic doesn’t feel like falling. It feels like walking home to a place that you knew well, a very, very long time ago, and it’s different now, older and dustier, but that’s okay because so are you. It feels like the moment of recognition, of coming home. 

There’s a storm, out in the distant waves, and they know instinctively that it’s Jonnit’s. But the lightning that strikes the waves, that’s all Gable. 

Neither of them see the moment that the Uhuru is wrenched free from the Mariner’s grasp for the second time, but they feel it in the weight of exhaustion that settles across their shoulders. They’re both breathing hard. Travis makes a noise of pure, genuine wonder, and it’s so unlike anything that Gable’s ever heard from him that they open their eyes.

Jonnit opens his, too, letting the rhythm drop, and he looks at his hand in shock. The cut that had been lying raw and jagged across his palm is gone, leaving nothing but smooth skin. They stare at each other for a long moment before daring to turn their eyes towards the sea. 

Gable’s always thought that skyships are beautiful. It’s hard to not to, when you see them glittering red and snowy white against the clouds. But no vision of perfection could ever, ever come close to the sight of the Uhuru, old and battered and still covered in traces of oil, dripping sea water and shining in the sunlight. 

There are gasps and shouts from behind Travis, and all three of them jerk around to look. The crew are pouring out of the caves, then freezing still, as if stunned, staring up at the sky. “It’s a miracle,” Gable hears. “The Luminaries favour us.” 

But it’s Nodoze that they look for in the crowd. They see him, leaning on a staff as if it was his beloved spear. He gives them a nod. He’s a hard man to read, but Gable knows without a shadow of a doubt that it’s pride in his voice when he raises his staff and shouts “Let’s go home!” 

The crew cheers, and Jonnit leaps up and pulls Gable up after him. He’s the one who initiates the group hug, because he’s Jonnit, and Travis and Gable are, well, Travis and Gable, but for once, no one pulls away. Gable closes their eyes and holds them both tightly, and if there’s tears in their eyes then that’s between them and the sky. 

It’s only once the cheers of the crew die down that they hear the other cry. “The red feathers! They’ve found us!” 

Everyone turns. Looking like nothing more than a distant, dangerous smudge on the horizon, Gable sees the syndicate ship. Maybe they hadn’t been left for dead after all. This means another escape, another chase, another fight— 

But there’s a wicked grin on their face as they let go of Travis and Jonnit and race across the beach to the birds. Skyjacks belong in the sky, and they’re all so very excited to go home.

**Author's Note:**

> comments & kudos are my lifeblood! find me on tumblr as [drowninginstarlights!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/drowninginstarlights)


End file.
